


Baker Street Morning

by pennypaperbrain



Series: Bipolar Sherlock fics [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Hypomania, Mixed Episode, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennypaperbrain/pseuds/pennypaperbrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyclical sickness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baker Street Morning

No John.

Rain runs down the inside of Sherlock’s mind as he stands at the misted window in growing half-light. The stinks of the pavement below will be muted while tiny flowers bloom in cracks. Neon towers fade to grey juts in the distance. Dawn is lifting those parts of London light enough to rise. To fully open their eyes.

No John.

Sadnesses bunch together, becoming a hot and leaden lump in the chest, beating, its heaviness sitting lightly due to sheer habituation. Richness festers in the throat, unspoken, mixed with dirt and melancholy, seeping into flesh. Air wraps flesh. Flesh wraps skeleton. Mood wraps mind and skewers bone. 

He was riddled with a twitching high this night. Past. The premise: a gnat’s song of possible forgiveness wailing on the wavelength of the sublime, crackling in and out. That seductive, illusory sublime.

Old sickness.

Morning mocks the fading flickery distension of hope. He moves his fingers onto strings and makes a lambent plangent jangling. Unacceptable, distasteful ‘self’ expression.

Delusions fade as his blood thins and clarifies. London flows freely now. He will stride out into the round of days and tree bark at the roadsides will not crawl like skin. Unreality splits at the punch of logic.

For now.

John left.

An excuse. Any fodder for this cyclical sickness.

Bones burn.


End file.
